As the year winds down, I like to reflect on how the garden has fared over the year: What did well, what struggled, what I’m most (or least) happy about. While disappointments are instructive, I make a point of focusing on the positives. A garden is supposed to be a source of happiness and relaxation, after all.
Come along as I riffle through the archives for lessons and highlights from every month of the year. If you’d like to know more, each entry is followed by related in-depth articles.
And now for a look back, starting with last January…
Visit any garden center in spring and among the first offerings for sale are flats of China pinks, Cheddar pinks and Sweet Williams, all forms of Dianthus known collectively as “garden pinks.” Ancient posies from Europe and Asia in the carnation family, the fringed blossoms were called gilliflowers in old texts and in Roman times, Jove’s flower.
The carnation connection is obvious: Pinks and Sweet Williams look for all the world like miniature carnations and are beloved for the same reasons: a sweet clove scent, strong essential oils and perky good looks on long stems, perfect for arrangements. (“Pinks” refers to their frilled or ragged petal edges as if cut with pinking shears, not the color.)
A distant cousin, rose campion (Lychnis or Silene coronaria) is another old flower dating from the 1600s. Native to Europe, campion was brought to the New World by the colonists. In fact the first mention of it growing in America is in Thomas Jefferson’s garden book, according to Monticello. It can be found there today in the estate’s restored gardens.
Pinks, sweet williams and campion are all easy flowers to grow as long as they get plenty of sun and well-drained, slightly alkaline soil. Here’s what to know.
My north bank in high summer is where most of my native plants reside, along with some favorite hybrid cultivars. By July it is like an orchestra in perpetual warm-up. Colors start trumpeting their hues. Soon soft drumbeats of rhythm and bass notes gets the whole show going, ending with a chorus of anemones in a jubiliant finale. Each year the effect is slightly different, just as a musical score varies with every performance.
I’m a total pushover for this look, I must admit. I live for it all year long. To me, jazzy colors and intricate layers of texture are as uplifting as any piece of music. So what makes a garden invigorating as opposed to visual cacophony? Is it okay to mix annuals and perennials?
First let’s look at technique, then review the best performers.
